Gnashing Teeth Publishing

| words that get in your teeth

June Said by Mona Mehas

snowflake ornaments on a white background with one shaped like a spider web, one like a leaf, and one with the work fuck as each spike of the snowflake

for June Jordan (1936-2002)

June said, ‘Life is action.’

When I look up into the sky, I see the stars
only because the sky is dark.
I catch the scent of cedar in the air
the smell of change, burning.

June said, ‘Inaction is death.’

A storm bursts in the hearts of people
across the land, our feet quicken to the call,
our radical spirits find solace
in a whirlwind of self-love.

June said, ‘If you can’t see that, you’re already gone.’

Books in my head suggest a myriad
of phantom ideas to chase
but choirs in my chest sing
of connections based on unity.

quotes from Brockport Writers Forum
September 25, 1981

Mona Mehas (she, her) writes poetry and prose from the perspective of a retired disabled teacher in Indiana USA. A pushcart nominee, her work has appeared in over 70 journals, anthologies, and online museums. Two of her poems received first place honors in the 2023 Poetry Society of Indiana fall contest. Mona’s chapbook, Questions I Didn’t Know I’d Asked is available from LJMcD Communications and Amazon. Her second book is forthcoming in July 2024. She is finishing edits on her first novel and will soon query agents.

Tweets @Patienc77732097

young woman with red hair smiling at the camera with a white paper umbrella behind her

like pretty tulips by linda m. crate

everything has been hard and heavy, as of late; in my world and the world at large— so yesterday i was drinking in small wonders like pretty tulips dancing out

What I Can Offer You by Rich Orloff

I cannot fix your pain I cannot solve your problem I can’t prevent the sorrow you’re feeling Or even guarantee I’ll make you smile However, because I’ve known Joy embracing

by Natalye Childress

*this poem is in .jpg to preserve formatting *this is the unformatted text of the poem after rainer maria rilke you, the poet, have become world weary, word-wrought. and god

guy with a dark beard and moustache wearing a black graphic tee

Orchards of Udders by Jon Wesick

dripped on the blanket while air rustled tamarind trees. Chekhov drank a Thai iced tea and plummeted out of this poem. A flock of circles twittered in the hacksaw bushes


we love hearing from you. tell us everything

Skip to content